Angels, They Don't Know Us
by Medrae
Summary: Alfred F. Jones is a famous and prosperous musician, who has money, fans and a beautiful voice, like an angel. One painful night, he meets a person he should've not met. Arthur Kirkland, once a British soldier, now an angel in Heaven, is sent on Earth to save young people from death. His afterlife changes when he meets a human he can't forget.
1. Chapter 1

**Full summary: Alfred F. Jones is a famous and prosperous musician, who has a beautiful voice like an angel. A gift from the God himself, his managers say. He has fans all over the world, money, everything a person could want, but something feels missing. At one painful night, Alfred meets a person he should've not met.**

 **Arthur Kirkland, a British soldier who died in Somme, is now an angel against his will in Heaven. He is sent on Earth, where he once walked, to save humans from dying at young age. His afterlife changes when he saves a human he can't forget. Arthur knows pain is inevitable.**

 _"... Oh, the sky is so blue_

 _The clouds so white_

 _I laugh and run_

 _With you by my side_

 _But then I realiz_ e

 _That you are not real_

 _You're just a ghost_

 _An angel_

 _and they don't know us_

 _Ooh_

 _Oh-oh-ooh_

 _They don't know us_

 _Angels in our hearts."_

Alfred opened his eyes and smiled at his friends. He sat in a light blue room, and his friends and manager were behind the glass. He knew that they were crying. So beautiful was his song and his voice.

Alfred stood up, took his headphones off and put his guitar against the chair. He walked out of the room, and is immediately hugged by his mother, Angela Jones.

"Oh my God, Alfred!" she sobbed. "Your voice i-is so beautiful!" Angela withdrew from the hug and dried her tears off. Alfred's father, John, smiled and patted his son's shoulder.

"Alfred-kun, I think your new album is ready", his manager, Kiku, said with a calm tone. He was the only one who didn't cry. The musician was used to '-kun' thing, so he didn't try to get him to stop it.

"Good job as always, Alfred", the voice of Ivan Braginsky, his brother's, Matthew Williams', boyfriend, said. Ivan smiled, and Alfred couldn't help but feel a bit scared. Something in his smile made him feel uncomfortable, but they were still quite good friends. He and Matthew were both hockey players, and they met at a hockey game in Moscow.

"Here, brother", Matthew said, giving a glass full of water to his brother. Alfred startled, but took the glass and thanked his brother for it. He drank it; oh, how relieving it felt in his throath.

"Damn, bro, you almost scared me to death!" Alfred exclaimed, putting the glass on the white table next to him. Everything in that neat, small room in his studio was white or different shades of blue.

"Language, Alfred! Although you are famous, which I'm very proud of, doesn't mean you can swear while your old mother is here!" Angela shook her head, looking disappointed.

Matthew smiled sheepishly. "I think that is always the case."

"Нет, Matthew, it is not always the case", Ivan said quietly and kissed his boyfriend. He blushed, trying to push him away.

"Ivan, not in front of my parents!" the Canadian exclaimed, turning his back to his boyfriend. Their parents weren't homophobic, luckily, but Matthew was still a bit shy about it; after all, both were celebrities in their own countries. Alfred chuckled; his brother was scary when he's angry. Angela and John both laughed shortly, until Kiku decided to open his mouth.

"Alfred-kun, your interview starts in an hour and seventeen minutes. Did you forget it?" He said, looking at his memo.

"Oh, shit!" Alfred's eyes widened, as he remembered the interview later at that night.

"Alfred!" Angela said warningly.

"I'm sorry, but I really have to go!" He kissed his mother's cheek quickly and grapped his jacket, practically running out of the room. Kiku followed him, but at the door he bowed and thanked Alfred's family for the time.

Outside the building, Alfred's - more like Kiku's - black limousine was waiting for them already.

"Kiku, what would I do without you?" Alfred asked, slightly panting from the run, when he sat in the car. His manager sat next to him, but not too close. The musician figured out that it had something to do with his culture; it was quite different than his.

"I believe nothing, Alfred-kun", he said, writing something down on his memo. Alfred closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. Oh, he could feel a headache borning. He should take a painkiller before going to the interview. The limousine started moving, and it stopped here and there.

A calm silence fell between them. Kiku was deep in his thoughts, while Alfred prepared himself for tonight. Finally, the limousine stopped. The singer collected his things.

"I'll go and change my clothes, then I'll come back, ok? By the way, how much time is left?" Alfred asked, when he got out of the car.

"Hai, Alfred-kun. And the time left is one hour and two minutes. Be quick, please", Kiku said, not looking up.

"Yes sir!" Alfred made a mock salute and grinned, before closing the door. He walked across the sidewalk until he was in front of his apartment. It looked more like a skyscaper than an apartment, but still, it was his home. The singer walked to elevator, pressed a button and waited. Soon it came and Alfred walked in. He pressed again a button where read '46' and leaned against the metal wall, when the elevator moved up.

He sighed. It was a routine to him, and he was growing bored to it. He needed changes, but as far as he knew, there weren't any coming. The elevator stopped, and Alfred walked out. 'Floor 46' read at the wall with grey letters.

The singer started walking again, until he saw the door of his apartment. He stopped in front of it, glancing at his neighbor's door, before going in his own home. It seemed like it that Francis had left already.

Alfred's apartment was small, average, not clean, but not messy. To someone else's eyes it might look messy, but not to his. Windows were big, and one could see from the door the landscape of New York and its many, shining lights. It was a sight Alfred could never get bored to.

He walked to his bedroom, putting the lights on. He sighed. He should really clean here. Some of his clothes were thrown across the room and he hadn't made his bed.

Alfred changed his black and orange hoodie and black pants to a black suit with a white vest and a grey tie. He put some perfume to his wrists and neck. It was a habit from that time when people were starting to know him. He had been in many programmes, and he certainly didn't want to smell like sweat in live broadcast.

"I seem to like black a lot", Alfred muttered to himself and grinned. He walked through his living room to the door, before glancing at his home. The couch, his HDTV, a glass table; everything was familiar to him and in order.

"Look at me, I'm getting sentimental", Alfred laughed, before walking outside and locking the door behind him.

 _OoOoOoOo_

The drive was short to the TV-station. Kiku said that he had to be positive and charming, that's why his fans loved him. Alfred had smiled and said he'll do his best and left. Now, when he was sitting at a boring, trying-to-be-lively waiting room, he felt more nervous than ever. He put his head between his hands, rubbing his temples. The headache he foresaw didn't come.

"Now, welcome one of our country's most famous singer with a voice like an angel, Alfred F. Jones!" Alfred stood up, smiled brightly and walked from the waiting room to the stage. Immediately, all the cameras were targeted at him, and all the watchers in the stand cheered and clapped. Alfred's smile grew wider.

He sat down opposite the host, John Davidson. He had grey suit, a blue tie and grey shoes, but his hair was brown. Grey seemed to be the color of the month, Alfred thought. John was smiling, like the singer.

"Ah, welcome, Alfred. Can I call you Alfred?" He winked.

"Yes, you can, Mr. Davidson." Alfred answered, making himself comfortable on the light brown couch. He had no idea why it was brown.

"Please, Alfred, call me John", the host said, sitting up straighter. "So, let's begin. What's up?" The audience laughed.

"Nothing much, I guess", Alfred changed his expression to thoughtful. "I just finished my new album before I came here."

The audience murmured shortly. The host raised his eyebrows. The album would be his third one, and the two before it had been hits. Everyone was waiting eagerly, and now, finally, new songs from the musician.

"I've heard rumours that you were making a new album and it seems that it is true. How many songs there are going to be and what's the name of it?" he asked, his expression interested.

"20, if I remember right. It's name is _Angels_ ", Alfred replied.

" _Angels_? Interesting name. Where did you get the inspiration?" John asked, leaning forwards.

"Believe it or not, I was in a taxi, and when I looked at the sky above Manhattan, I thought: 'Are there really angels?'" The singer said, glancing at one of the cameras.

"But", Alfred interrupted John before he could say anything, "The album isn't religious. It's more about the world, the humans here and... Loneliness." He felt a twinge in his heart. He had lived alone since he moved from Chicago to New York. Alfred felt the need to love, feel a lover's body against his. But he also knew that it was impossible. If he would ever have a lover, he knew that the paparazzis would immediately start taking pictures of them and the newspapers would write rumours. The stress would be impossible to handle.

"Ah, quite deep topic, am I right?" John laughed nervously. Alfred nodded and answered to questions, told him, told to the whole world things he had to say. Then, John leaned closer to him. He acted like he was coughing.

"Alfred, can I ask you a trustful question?" He asked quietly, although Alfred knew that everyone could hear it in now quiet place.

"Yes, go ahead",

"Do you have a lover? A girlfriend or boyfriend?" He asked. It felt like the whole audience is holding their breaths, waiting for an answer.

Alfred smiles sadly, before answering. Again that small twinge in his heart.

"No, I don't have a lover. I guess I'm just waiting for the right one to come."

Most of the humans have always seeked for love and happiness. And Alfred knew that he was one of them.

 **A new story! Yay *laughs nervously* I actually got this idea while I was listening music and then I wrote it down. I'll try to update this every week, like my other fic, but let's see how it'll go.**

 **And that song at the beginning of the chapter is just from my imagination. It has nothing to do with reality.**

 **Well, I ranted, so I'll go and read to my German exam and *sigh* then I have to empty the dishwasher.**

 **Reviews are always appreciated, wrether negative or positive. Cookies and juice to you!**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

A small child cried. Smoke filled the air, making it harder to breathe. Arthur didn't see well; only things he saw were smoke and glow of fire somewhere further. It reminded him from the Great War, where he had died.

"Major general?" A hesitant voice of his friend, Paul, asked. Arthur turned to look at him. Their beautiful, white wings weren't dirtied by soot, and that was only good thing in being an angel, Arthur thought, gritting his teeth. He just wanted to have a peaceful afterlife, but no, he was sent on Earth to save young humans from thing he wasn't saved from.

He sighed, trying not to let his bad mood show. "Paul, I'm not a major general anymore. We're equal now." The child cried again, begging her mother to save her. Paul nodded shyly.

"Now go for your own, old friend", Arthur turned, walking towards the cry. He didn't look back.

Walking through the burning furniture wasn't the best experience he had ever experienced. In fact, it was one of the worst. Arthur huffed. The child cried again, and he walked forwards a bit more. Then he saw her.

Her originally blue dress was now dirty from soot and smoke. She was crying and coughing, and the tears made light lines on her face. It reminded him of the war. He shook his head, trying to get the memories go away. He certainly didn't want to break down in front of her.

When she saw him, her eyes widened and she tried to back off. Dread was clearly visible in her eyes.

"Don't fear me", Arthur said quietly and smiled reassuringly. He sat down on the floor, almost in front of her.

"Wh-who a-are you?" She asked and he saw a curious twinkle in her eyes, when she saw his halo. Oh, those kids are always curious, he thought. Well, he was too as a kid.

"I'm an angel, dear", he answered gently. If possible, her eyes widened more.

"Really? I've always wanted to meet an angel!" She exclaimed, before coughing again. Damn, that smoke is a pain in the ass. She should've passed out by now, Arthur thought, trying to hear the sounds of firefighters arriving. Nothing.

Then, he felt a light touch at his right wing. He glanced sideways, seeing the girl petting his wing with a fascinated expression. She looked up at the angel, smiling hesitantly.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Angel", she apologized. "I just wanted to touch your wings! They looked so soft."

Arthur blinked. No one had ever touched his wings. They were kind of angels' sensitive zones, and when someone touched them, it felt good, almost heavenly.

"Arthur. Call me Arthur, please", he said. He heard some annoying voice further, and he soon realized that it was the firefighters. He sighed internally, relieved. They would be soon here.

"My name is Madelaide, Mr. Arthur", she said, still petting his wings. When the angel realized what she wanted, he plucked a long, beautifully white feather from his wing. It shined slightly, because it was from a heavenly creature.

"You should've just asked, dear", he said, handing the feather to Madelaine. She looked at it with a rapt expression. Arthur soon heard the yells of the firemen. It seemed that they had found Madelaine's brother.

"Here! I found her!" A fireman with a mask on and a black uniform appeared in the doorway. Madeleine glanced at Arthur, fear and distress shining in her eyes. The fireman walked closer, not glancing at the angel.

"Mr. Arthur, he'll see you!" Madeleine whispered.

"No, he won't", he answered, smiling sadly. The girl wouldn't meet him anymore. Next time they would meet in heaven. The angel vanished, and almost immediately Madelaine closed her eyes.

Later that day the newspapers were telling stories about a small girl who survived from a fire without serious injuries.

 _OoOoOoOoOo_

His room was empty when he came in. He sighed, relieved. Those annoying putti decided to leave him alone.

"Hmph, they thought they could pair me up with someone", Arthur huffed, before falling on his bed. He was dead tired, and he just wanted to sleep rest of the day. If there was things called days and nights in heaven. Traveling to Earth and back could be sometimes exhausting, when an angel had more saving of humans than usually - the usual amount was one human per day, sometimes more. Damn those humans, so reckless and stupid, he thought bitterly. They should not just throw their life away. He closed his eyes and fell asleep almost immediately.

 _The fear was so strong. He panted already, even though the attack hadn't even started yet. Adrenaline flowed through his veins, he just wanted to go, not wait here. Orders were given, now they wer_ _e waiting for the order to climb up, run until you were either shot down or reached the trenchs of the German soldiers._

 _"Rule, Britannia!" Someone shouted joking_ _ly, trying to lift the mood. It earned some quiet, bitter laughters, but rest of the soldiers just glanced at him_ _sadly. Everyone knew they were going to die there._

 _His heart beat so loudly in his chest that Arthur feared that it would jump out of_ _it. He_ _clenched at his gun, bringing it closer to his chest._

 _"Let's go, men! Let's show to those German bastards, who rules!" The lieutenant general shouted. Almost immediately, every soldier climbed up from the trench, shouting_ _defiant battle cries and swear words. T_ _he Germans started to shoot at the British with their machine guns. They heard a boom from an_ _artillery weapon somewhere nearby._

 _"I don't want, sir!" Someone_ _cried_ _next to Arthur._ _"I don't want to die! I can't do it!"_ _The soldiers who were waiting for their turn, turned to watch him._ _Some didn't care, just climbed up._

 _"I don't want! I don't want!" The soldier collapsed on the muddy ground, repeating those words like a mantra._

 _"You have to. You're British, you can't just give up", Arthur said and was surprised how cold and empty his voice was._ _It seemed that war was taking its toll._

 _"B-but-" The soldier stuttered, looking up. His face was dirty from dust and dirt, like everyone else's. Arthur took his gun, loaded it and said: "If you don't now go there, I'll shoot you."_

 _Arthur knew the orders. If someone don't go, you have to shoot him, friend or not._

 _"I-I won't go!" He screamed, and stood up, backing off as far as he could from ladder. His hands and legs shaked, and his panicky blue eyes wandered to look at him and others._

 _"Then,_ _I command you to death as a_ _traitor", Arthur said and shot him to heart._ _The soldier looked surprised, before he slowly closed his eyes_ _and collapsed on the ground._

 _"Now, go", he said to others and turned to climb up the ladder. They followed him, and not a word was said between them._

 _The field looked terrifying. Dead British soldiers were laying on the ground in different postures, their uniforms bloody and the guns next to them. It was_ _a horror_ _show._

 _"Attack!"_ _Arthur yelled and started running. Paul had_ _climbed_ _up and was now running next to him._

 _The sound of machine gun started again_ _. Arthur_ _ran even faster, not wanting to die yet. Suddenly, he felt a piercing pain in his leg. He cried in pain and fell on the ground. For a moment, he couldn't breathe. Paul grunted in pain behind him, and soon he heard a thud. Tears formed into his eyes, as he realized what had happened. One of his best childhood friends had died. All because of this_ _useless war._

 _"Damn you all! May you burn in hell!" Arthur_ _screamed_ _, when he tried to stand up, but failed miserably. His leg... It was probably full of bullet holes. His blood_ _dyed the ground._

"Brother! Wake up!" Someone shaked him rather roughly and Arthur sat up quickly. His breathing was shallow, and for a moment he didn't know where he was. Then all came back to him. His little brother, Peter, looked at him with worry shining in his eyes.

"What's wrong?" Arthur asked.

"Y-you were just tossing and turning and mumbling in your sleep", Peter stuttered. After seeing his brother's expression, he exclaimed: "That doesn't mean I care about you, or anything!" He looked away angrily. Arthur chuckled, examining his brother's appearance.

The small angel had a toga, sandals resembling the ones which ancient Roman soldiers used, blue eyes, small wings and eyebrows which resembled Arthur's own.

"Jerk! You have to come with me, I need you as a judge! I'm gonna race with Raivis", his little brother exclaimed. The worry had disappeared, and now there was excitement at its place.

"Ask someone else", Arthur muttered, closing his eyes. He certainly didn't want to look after his brother and his friend.

"Nope! Others are doing something else and you have nothing to do so-" Peter explained, practically jumping on his place.

"Look, I have done more than you have today. Go away and let me rest. And ask from Sergei, maybe he wants to help you", Arthur stood up and pushed the complaining angel out of his room.

"Raivis doesn't like Sergei, so-" Arthur shut the door and leaned onto it. He slowly sat down on the floor. His brother could be annoying little brat if he wanted to, and today was one of those days. Or then it was Arthur himself.

"Arthur, you really need love", a little putto said next to him. The angel groaned, trying to hit it. The putto laughed and vanished again, leaving Arthur by himself.

 **I was going to write that war memory as his death memory, but then I changed it.** **Also, those military things really made my head hurt. (Same with putti, cherubis, Cupidos, thrones and seraphim.) How can someone ever learn them? (My father said that I have to know them before I go to army.)**

 **By the way, I thank you deeply for the reviews! They really made my day and I started smiling when I read them. I'm glad to know that there is persons who like my story.**

 **How was your day, dear readers? I had history in the first lesson, then math, then Russian and finally health education. After school had ended, I went to taekwondo rehearsal. The** **pacemaker made us run for ten minutes and then do some kicks and now my legs hurt so badly!**

 **About chapters, then. I'll tell the story from Alfred and Arthur's point of view so, that** **in the first chapter, it was Alfred's POV, then Arthur's POV, then Alfred's and so on. You get it?**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**_Trigger warning: Terrorism_**

The sun shined through the curtains, waking up Alfred. He groaned groggily and opened his eyes. Then he glanced sideways and sighed. No one was with him. He didn't hear anything from the kitchen, either. His house was completely silent.

Alfred sighed, relieved, and sat up, scratching his neck. He yawned, then stood up and dressed up.

He had finally few days off, and he was grateful for that. Days like these were rare. Usually Alfred played Call of Duty at his home and was lazy, or then his friends invited him to their place to play some console games.

Alfred walked out of his bedroom and went to put the TV on. Maybe on the news would be something interesting. He put it on and went to wash his teeth.

" _Yesterday evening, one of the world's most famous singers and a songwriter, Alfred F. Jones, published his new album named Angels_." Alfred shrugged. It was no big deal to him, but to world, it was. He bet that his mail box would be full of messages sent by his fans and women who wanted to marry him - partly from money, partly from something else.

After he did his morning things, like making his bed and showering himself, he made breakfast. Bacons, eggs and some bread with orange juice was his favorite. He sat down at the counter, eating his breakfast and drowning in his thoughts.

Then, an item of news caught his attention, causing him to snap out of his thoughts.

" _Other news. Yesterday, a destructive fire in an apartment house in Boston made damage near the city center. About twenty people died, but the rest of the people, like miracle twins Madelaine and Richard Carter, survived. Doctors are puzzled how the twins survived without any fatal injuries_."

Alfred looked outside; one could see New York's landscape from his kitchen. That thing sounded like a supernatural thing. Maybe they were a demon and a human's offspring? Or a creature from another planet? He shook his head: it was a stupid idea. There wasn't any supernatural creatures or aliens. They weren't even real. Maybe Alfred had watched too much horror and scifi movies.

A ping from his phone startled him and he almost fell on the floor from his chair.

"Damn", he swore. He was getting annoyed at his fans. Why they wanted to bother him so much? Alfred felt that he was an exotic animal in a zoo and the visitors could bother him at any time possible. Even at night, if they wanted.

He groaned and opened his phone just to see hundreds of e-mails and messages. Next, the phone was laying at a couch.

 _OoOo_

Rest of the morning went in cleaning the house and listening Spotify - he didn't listen his own music, though. He didn't want to seem like a person who loves his own voice. No, he listened bands like Linkin Park and OneRepublic.

Then, after he ate his light lunch, he went jogging. His father always said that exercise was good for your body, and Alfred finally realized it. As a teenager, he had been really worried about his weight, because he didn't want to be fat.

Jogging in the Central Park was kind of relaxing while listening music. Luckily he didn't notice any paparazzis, who would ruin his calm mood. One of the reasons could be that it was weekend; many were now just enjoying from days off, like him. The day was beautiful, and Alfred loved it.

After a forty-five minute running session, he returned to his apartment. It was as empty as ever, but he didn't care. He still smiled.

 _OoOo_

After playing Call of Duty: Ghosts for a couple of hours, Alfred felt himself a bit hungry. His stomach growled as an agreement, and he scrathed nape of his neck, feeling a bit embarrassed. He stood up, pausing his game and walked to the fridge. Alfred opened the door only to see it almost empty.

"Nothing to eat", Alfred complained, scanning through the other cupboards. There was only things for breakfast, and he certainly wasn't going to eat another breakfast. He thought about going to McDonalds', but then again he thought about his reputation. Damn, a reputation was really the most important thing in a singer's life.

"I can't help it but go to grocery store", he muttered to himself and went to put the console off. Alfred was a talkative person, so he sometimes talked to himself. Then he changed his clothes to more "cleaner" ones. Then he took his wallet, keys and phone, and walked at his apartment's door.

The musician opened the door and walked out of his apartment, turning on his heels to lock the door. Suddenly, a wave of nostalgia and some kind of melancholy washed over him. It was like he was leaving his childhood home all over again. Alfred knew he was going to be back soon. Still, the feeling didn't pass. He shrugged and left.

When he was outside, Alfred scretched his limbs and smiled, then started walking towards a store near his apartment building. While he walked, he looked around. It felt like there were yellow taxis and people everywhere, but it didn't bother him. The city lived around him, and he loved it. Here dreams were big and shining like stars, but this city could also destroy them into small pieces, sharp like glass and as shining as tears. Alfred watched the high buildings around him and felt suddenly so small.

After twenty five minutes of walking - it felt too short in Alfred's opinion - he arrived at the cozy store. It wasn't big, but not too small either. It wasn't popular either, but the workers were good people, who made everything with care and determination. He walked in and was immediately greeted by the people who worked there. He was a familiar person. Alfred greeted them back, then walked to find what he was looking for.

He soon found what he needed to make a decent dinner for tonight and some food for the next day.

"A bomb!" Suddenly someone screamed loudly in panic. Alfred startled, almost dropping his things. Chaos broke out, and then the bomb exploded. The shockwave was strong enough to sent him flying backwards, until he hit something hard. Screaming continued, and Alfred heard sobbing and crying too.

He groaned, when he lay on the floor. He stood slowly up, until he heard a crack above him. He looked up, only to see a growing crack at the ceiling.

"Run! Run! The ceiling is breaking!" Alfred yelled at the top of his lungs, before starting to run towards the doors. Panic and adrenaline flowed through his veins. The bomb was big and powerful enough to break important things, he thought and abruptly stopped. He had heard something.

Everyone were outside already, but he wasn't. His parents would call him reckless and stupid and too heroic for his own good.

"Help..." Someone sobbed nearby. Alfred recognized the voice as Sella's, a good friend of his, who worked at the market. Soon Alfred saw her when he walked forwards.

"Sella!" Alfred exclaimed and hurried to help her. Her legs were stuck, and when Alfred tried to pull her out, she just screamed more, begging the pain to stop.

"Please go and leave me, Alfred." Sella looked up. Determination shined in her brown eyes. Plaster and other things fell of the ceiling at faster pace. The whole place was crumbling down, and if the musician didn't leave now, he would never see the sun and the stars.

"I'm sorry", Alfred mouthed, before backing off and starting to run at the doors. Quilt was heavy in his chest, but he didn't care.

Then something hit him, quite hard, before everything went black.

 _OoOo_

Alfred startled and woke up, groaning in pain. He smelled smoke and heard fire burning somewhere. The ground under him was black, or at least dark colored. He wasn't inside the store anymore. Now he was laying in front of the front doors, or near them, he wasn't sure. His head, side and leg - they hurt so much that it felt like someone had hit him with a hammer. He couldn't see anything, but he heard some yells and a distant sound of ambulance. The help was coming, he thought. Then he felt something streaming down his temple and then cheek. Alfred touched the sticky liquid and realized that it was blood. His heart beat a little bit faster.

Then he saw something white. It was glowing, so he couldn't look at it directly. Suddenly, the white light disappeared and the singer saw an unordinary human above him. His green eyes shined like an inscrutable, deep forest. Alfred wanted, no, felt urge to examine him and his eyes, to know all his secrets. And the worst part was that he didn't know why. The man sat next to him, and only now he noticed the pure white, slightly glowing wings and his almost invicible halo just above his sandy blond hair. How he could've missed them? Then he realized that the person sitting next to him wasn't human - he was an angel. Or was he a woman? He didn't dare to ask.

"A-are you Michael?" Yes, really clever question, but Alfred couldn't think what else to ask. He knew only three archangels, Michael, Rafael and Gabriel. Alfred tried to gasp, but coughed instead. He tasted something metallic in his mouth, or then it was just fear. The pain reminded itself when Alfred tried to move, and he gritted his teeth to keep himself for screaming in pain.

The angel chuckled. "No, higher ups don't usually interact with humans." He put his hand on Alfred's hand, like he had known what and the pain eased almost immediately. The musician shivered at the touch, because the angel's hand wasn't cold nor hot, something between them.

"What are you doing here? On Earth, I mean... You're an angel, you know..", Alfred stuttered. His vision became blurred, then it sharpened again. What was happening to him? Then he realized it. Was he dying? No, no, he can't die yet! It all made sense. Maybe the angel was sent to get him to the heaven.

"Just breathe", the angel said, his British pronunciation strong. His voice was soothing, like he was a mother, singing a lullaby to a child. Alfred wanted to believe him.

"What- what's happening to me?" Alfred's breathing was quick and shallow, his strongest muscle beat loudly in his ears.

"Calm down, Alfred", the angel said quietly. "I'm not letting you die here while I am working", the angel added, his voice now determined. Then he heard a yell.

"Here's a victim! Quickly!"

That was the last thing Alfred heard. Everything went black, but before it he noticed that the angel had disappeared. And he hadn't answered to his question.

 **I had really big writer's block with this chapter, but finally this is ready!** **(Although it's 1.30 a.m. here)**


	4. Chapter 4

His room felt as empty as ever, but now it was just a thing that annoyed and frustrated him even more. The American's expression and shining eyes still lingered in his mind. Arthur fell on his bed with a groan.

His little brother lay on his bed opposite the room, reading a comic about superheros. Peter didn't have his own room, so he slept in Arthur's room. What was so cool in superheros, anyway? The angel recalled how Peter had followed their every move as a small child and it had continued to that point where it killed him. He just wanted to be noticed by someone other than their mother.

Arthur rolled on his back and stared at the ceiling. His afterlife felt like repetition of everyday, but it wasn't a bad thing. While he was alive, he didn't feel really interested in other countries and traveling. Instead, he read dusty history books at the library of his home. He drowned in his memories, recalling every moment in his life in his mind.

Surprisingly, he didn't find any counterpart resembling this warm, pleasant feeling when he remembed the American man.

Soon, he fell into a peaceful sleep.

 _The atmosphere of the library was calming. The sun_ _shone through the big glass windows, illuminating every surface, making the moment magical. A child, old enough to read but not teenager yet, walked on sight. His green eyes shined with astonishment, like he had come for the first time in his family's library._

 _"I wonder is it here", Arthur muttered to himself. It was a habit picked up from his father, who sometimes talked to himself. There was nothing wrong with it, even the greatest of men talked to themselves._

 _He walked in the library, trying to find the book he was looking for. Soon, he found it. The thick book felt as heavy as a_ _brick, when the young boy carried it to the nearest table. It told about famous men (and women) who had left their mark at history books, and Arthur sweared he would make the same thing. Maybe he could be the next prime minister of England..._ _Or a famous author! He liked writing._

 _"Arthur, the tea is ready!" His mother shouted from downstairs._ _He looked up from the book, feeling resentful, because he didn't even manage to read one page!_

 _"Yes, ma'am!" The boy knew his father would probably be there, so he never called his parents 'mother' and 'father'. Even his big brothers did so._

 _Arthur hurried - no, gentlemen didn't run._ _They just walked fast - downstairs, completely forgetting the book._

 _The book was left open. On the page, there was a_ _image of_ _a beautiful, brunette woman with an armor on and a sword._

 _Joan of Arc (French: Jeanne d'Arc)_

 _Born: 6 January 1412_

 _Died: 30 May 143_ _1_

 _OoOo_

The next two days were just mixture of resting, gentle words and seeing different manifestations of death. He had still that job, his brother wanting to come with him and those stupid putto following him all the time.

Today, he walked through the corridors of an hospital. Disinfectant and smell of death lingered in the air, but it didn't really bother Arthur. He was used to it.

He heard loud speaking behind a door when he walked past it. He figured out that someone had told the news no one didn't want to hear.

He continued walking, and the numbers of the rooms flashed by. 138, 139, 140, 141 and so on, until the angel glanced sideways. He stopped like dead on his tracks, turning his head slowly to look through a window. Arthur's expression was taken aback first (What was the American doing here?) however he quickly recovered. Of course he would be at hospital, but why it had to be _this_ hospital. Fate, Arthur thought, was a cruel bitch. It wanted to make life of the people as hard as possible or then as easy as dancing on roses.

He walked forwards, placing his hand on the cold glass surface.

The man he couldn't forget was on the other side of the glass, laying on a white hospital bed surrounded by his relatives. White bandages were wrapped around his head, and his leg looked more thicker than in reality it would be. But despite all his injuries, the American looked cheerful. His mother's eyes were puffy, and his father and brother's expressions were worried. Arthur saw them speaking, but he couldn't hear what.

Suddenly, a realization dawned on the American's face, like he remembered something important, but then he startled and pressed his hands on his ears. His mother shrieked.

"What's wrong with my son? Doctor!" A doctor who walked past Arthur, stopped abruptly, turned and went inside. Arthur followed him, although his instict screamed him to go to the person who was dying, not to wast his time here. You're right, the soldier in him thought. He should follow orders.

But he didn't.

The doctor did a short checkup on him and said nothing was wrong with the blue eyed man, although the doctor was a little worried about the American man's sudden headaches. Then he glanced at his watch.

"Visiting time is over, sirs and madam", the man said, walking to the door, not even glancing at the angel next to him.

The older looking man nodded, presumably the saved one's father, whispered something to his wife. She nodded and stood up, wiping her eyes.

"Matthew, are you coming?" She asked. The man named as Matthew stood up like his parents, before turning to look at his brother.

"Al, please stop being a hero and making us worry. Next time... You might die."

"Matt, you know I can't", the man grinned. "It's in my blood. And I promise I won't die."

His brother Matthew nodded and with that the family left, like the doctor. Now the angel and the living were between the two in the hospital room, even though 'Al' didn't know it.

Now that's a hard promise to keep, mister, Arthur thought. He turned on his heels to leave, but then-

-Arthur heard the words no angel wanted to hear. They were supposed to be hidden from people, but if someone old enough saw a one, they couldn't hide from him again. It felt like his blood had frozen in his veins, when he turned around and realized the truth he didn't want to admit.

This thing would never end well.

"I see you."

 **I wasn't really sure how long a human can be unsconscious, but I didn't want to make it too long nor too short, so I put two days there.**

 **Sorry for the long (?) hiatus, I had tests and exams and everything going on, but today I'll try to publish another chapter.**

 **Promises and excuses, ok, I'll stop.**


	5. Chapter 5

It felt like something had blocked Alfred's breathing, because when he saw that creature with pure white, soft looking wings, Alfred couldn't help but wonder how a person could be so... Beautiful. His young features felt almost heavenly in his eyes, and a warm feeling in his chest grew slowly.

Now he remembered all the things he couldn't remember earlier: who had saved him, and who said those words he heard in his head. It was that angel, who had even talked to him. For a moment Alfred had thought he was crazy.

"I see you." It felt like everything stopped. The words were simple, anyone could've said them at any time at anywhere, in any language possible, in the past or in the future, but Alfred said them. The angel turned around, and the musician could swear he saw something resembling pain of realization in his eyes.

"Why did you save me?" Alfred suddenly blurted out. "Why? And how did you even know what was happening? Just what are you?" He said fiercely, continuing, "or then I'm just going crazy and seeing things but in reality I'm six feet under."

"Sir, you are as alive as I am dead", the angel said collectedly and sat down on the table. He folded his wings against his back like a bird would do. Alfred watched him with interest, waiting for him to continue.

"As you can see, I'm an angel-"

"From heaven?" Alfred asked curiously, interrupting him.

The angel nodded, glancing at him angrily. "I saved you, because... It belongs to my job. I save people from death."

"How did you know what was happening?" He felt like he was an interrogator, and the person sitting on the table was a prisoner. Now that he thought about it, he realized it. When Alfred was about to die, the angel appeared there from scratch like knowing already what was happening. Not to forget that he saved him.

"I just knew", he answered. "I can't explain it." The Brit's answers were short, like he didn't want to talk with the musician, or like he was despising him from the start. Alfred nodded, thinking about it. All he knew was now turned upside down - in his mind angels were just the servants of God or then just telling people messages from Him or something. He wasn't a religious person, so was he supposed to know?

"By the way, I don't know your name", Alfred said, a curious hint in his tone. If his accent was British, his name could be old fashioned. "My name is Alfred F. Jones, and I'm a musician." He grinned cheerfully, like trying to reassure the angel. The British man raised his eyebrows as an answer.

"Arthur." The angel - Arthur - replied shortly, looking at the ceiling above him, and a nervous silence fell between them. Alfred looked through the glass behind Arthur. No one hadn't heard their speaking; in fact, the whole place felt eerily silent. The corridor seemed empty, which was unusual for hospitals. For twenty-five he'd been awake, there had walked at least one person every minute.

Chills went down his spine, when he remembered a show he watched sometimes; there was an asylum, where crazy people lived. Of course, there was blood too. And asylums reminded him of hospitals.

"Do you know what's a guardian angel?" Arthur asked, his voice sounding like he had given up, when the silence just grew longer between them.

"Oh, you mean those... angels who guard and watch over humans?" Alfred asked. His mother had sometimes told to him and Matthew about them and how they protected children from harm.

Arthur nodded. "You decided to notice me. You could've just ignored me, and I would've left. You would have never seen me again."

The thought of that made Alfred feel down. The angel was interesting, he was like Pandora's box. The musician wanted to learn to know the angel better.

When Alfred didn't say anything, Arthur continued.

"But, for some reason, I'm... Your guardian angel", the angel said, sighing deeply. The musician thought about it, feeling annoyed. Even the God thought that he was childish, like his brother.

"But I'm not child! I don't need a guardian angel." Alfred sulked.

"Unknown are Lord's ways", Arthur answered, his expression changing to withdrawn. "But do you really think that I want to look after a git like you?" Ouch. That hurt.

"No, and I don't want to a some kind of guardian watching 'over' me", Alfred answered, his voice slightly raising. He crossed his arms as best as he could.

"Yes, I didn't even ask this", the angel muttered to himself. "This damn afterlife with these feelings and memories..."

The musician was confused. Feelings? Memories? What did he mean? His bad mood vanished slowly, although he was still annoyed to God by ordering an angel to look after him. If he even believed to Him, that is.

Suddenly, Arthur startled.

"I have to go", he said, his eyes glinting with a feeling Alfred couldn't understand. Maybe shame or some kind of hatred, he hypothesised.

"Wow, what's wrong?" He asked. Was he dying or something? But angels can't die. Right?

"I.. Have a job to do", the angel only answered uneasily.

Then, a thought came up in his mind.

"By the way, could you come to visit me again? I mean, it's kind of lonely here", Alfred felt the color rushing on his cheeks. "And I'm bored, yeah, that's it, I'm bored." He laughed nervously.

The angel stared at him blankly for a moment, before chuckling.

"I'll come." And with that, he vanished. Alfred stared the spot where the angel had stood, astonished and dumbfounded.

"Wh-where did he go?" He muttered, and looked around. He noticed something shining on the hospital bed. He reached out in order to take it, while trying not to sever some kind of tube from his back of the hand.

Alfred took the weird thing and realized it was a big feather. It shined slightly, like a light was trapped within it. He examined it, before smiling widely.

 _"Angels in our hearts."_

 **I've always imagined Alfred as that kind of guy who falls in love with someone deeply, but Arthur is more careful with things of heart.**

 **Btw, I think this won't be** **religiously accurate. I haven't read the Bible, so I don't know about the angels much or how they act. I portray the heaven and the angels how I've imagined them as.**

 **But now I'm off to read _Through the Ever Night_**

( **For some reason I really want to write a FrUK fanfiction)**

 **Ok bye**


	6. Chapter 6

"We're losing him!" A nurse cried out, glancing at a machine known as EKG. It beeped fast and loudly.

"Now, we aren't going to give up", a surgeon said calmly, while stitching the wound on their patient's head. Other assistants rushed around like headless chickens, and soon the patient's heartbeat slowed down a little.

Arthur watched the operation with interest. Medicine sure had become long way from when he had lived. Well, almost a century had passed, so it had to develop.

The angel huffed and stood up. His job here was done, so he could go now. He walked out of the room to a crowded hallway. Nurses hurried around with their clipboards in a beehive known as a hospital.

Arthur decided to walk instead just appearing to the American's room. Promise was promise, and a man couldn't renege.

He looked around. His pace was calm, like his mind - a small, white lie. His mind was never calm. The feeling he felt was constantly nagging in the back of his mind, and it definitely wasn't just a wish to quit. It felt more like _hiraeth_ , a longing for a home he had never been - or had than

Most of the doors were closed, or then someone, probably a nurse or a relative, slipped in or out of the rooms. The angel didn't understand why people hated hospitals; people died there, yes, but people were also healed there.

Soon Arthur arrived in front of the American man's room's door. He hesitated a bit, a thought appearing to his mind that he could leave and never come back. It was actually a good idea, because relationships with humans didn't end well.

 _But who said this is going to be a relationship? Guardian angels aren't supposed to be in a relationship with their protected one._

The angel groaned, wanting that the voice would shut up. He gritted his teeth out of annoyance. He materialized into the room.

As if he could leave the inner voice of his outside.

The blue-eyed man was sitting on his bed and somehow, managed to write slowly. His expression was focused. The bandage was still around his head and he was wearing a hospital gown of a some kind.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asked. The American startled and tried to hide the paper. The pencil fell on the floor.

"Oh! Hi, Arthur. Uhm, I'm doing nothing.." He rambled, a flush appearing on his cheeks.

A small smile tugged the Brit's lips, but he didn't give in to it. Instead, he sat down on the table next to the door.

A silence fell between the two. The human tried to get the pencil on the table from the floor, but he didn't succeed. Arthur saw it was somewhat painful. He watched what the American was doing pitifully, until he snapped his fingers. The pencil appeared on the paper. The American turned to look at the Brit with an expression of disbelief and astonishment.

"You have magic?" He exclaimed, excited. His eyes were twinkling brightly. He sat up, grimacing in pain. The angel huffed.

"Of course I do." He replied, crossing his arms.

"Can you show me?"

"Yes, I _can_ , but..."

The musican shook his head, grinning helplessly.

"You Brits and your grammar", he sulked, but still asked: " _May_ you show me magic?"

Arthur nodded, snapping his fingers again. The paper vanished and appeared then again to the angel's hands.

"Hey! Give it back!" The American exclaimed. "It's mine!"

"You wanted to see magic, now it's pointless to complain." Arthur replied and started reading the writing on the paper.

 _I've seen countless nights_

 _Rainy days_

 _Broken men and screaming girls,_

 _But I've felt no love_

 _But I've felt no love._

 _When the sky cries,_ _it never cries out_

 _But when we cry, we tear ourselves apart_

 _And let the whole world know it_

 _I lost my brother to love ..."_

Arthur stopped reading and looked at the human. He folded it to a paper plane and threw it. It landed on the foot of the bed.

"So, you're a musician? And you have a brother?" The angel asked. If he really had to be the American's guardian angel, shouldn't he know him a little better?

Know your enemy, the soldier in him whispered. He's not my enemy, the angel answered vehemently. Just a... human. Yes, he was a human; the two were just as different as day and night.

"Musician Alfred F. Jones, in your service!" The musician looked proud, then he grinned, trying to salute. He grimaced. The angel huffed, shaking his head disapprovingly.

"And I have a brother. I think you saw my brother on the other day. You know, an unnoticiable Canadian hockey player named Matthew Williams? But in the rink he's turns to a demon, I swear. Same with his creepy boyfriend, Ivan Braginsky. He gets even creepier when he plays", Alfred told. Arthur didn't listen very carefully, he was partly in his own thoughts.

Of course the former soldier knew the singer had a brother; he had seen him the day before yesterday, as well as his parents.

"... My mother's name is Angela Jones, she's an assistant manager in a company which has something to do with clothes. Francis actually learned all from clothes from my mother. And my father is John Jones and he works in the Air Force. When I was young, I wanted to be a fighter pilot too, like my dad. Luckily then I discovered my singing abilities and here I am."

Hmm. Interesting career choices, the angel thought. Well, what did he know? He'd spent his life studying in England and abroad, and when the call came, he wound up in the Great War. He hadn't even thought about getting a job.

The question which Alfred asked froze Arthur's blood.

"What about you? Do you have a family?" Arthur stared at the musician with a blank expression, trying to come up with something to say.

"My family's dead", he said after a moment. Alfred seemed like he had lost his utterance.

"I.. I'm sorry", the musician said after a moment. Shock and fear - what if that had happened to him? - glinted in his eyes.

"Did you pull the triggers of the German guns?" Arthur asked dryly.

"What? Was your entire family killed by the Germans? Even your mother?"

"No, of course not. Me and my three brothers were killed at the battlefront, the youngest of us drowned, mother died from grief and father died few years later." A smile tugged his lips, and he chuckled. At least he won the game. Alfred stared at Arthur, his expression full of disbelief. Who would laugh after telling their whole familtmy was six feet under?

Again a silence, when Alfred tried to thaw the information.

"So... Did you die in a war?"

The angel nodded.

"What war?"

"The Great War."

"Artie, there-"

"Arthur." The angel corrected. He didn't like nicknames; they weren't useful. And if someone heard his nickname, he would lose his

"-was two 'Great Wars', or World Wars as we call them." The Brit was shocked: two wars which almost destroyed Europe? Thousands, maybe millions had died, so what had got humans to start a new destructive war? What was wrong with people? He was speechless.

Alfred must've seen his shock, because he cleared his throat rather loudly. The American had apparently asked his question again.

"The First World War." The Brit's answer was barely a whisper. His grip tightened on the table. He could still remember all that had happened there. It haunted him, and he hated it.

The American musician didn't ask any other questions; maybe he knew it wasn't the time.

A heavy, uncomfortable silence fell between them.

"Why?" The angel asked quietly.

The only answer he got was a dejected shrug.

 **... Finally. Finally a new chapter. I'm relieved. I** **struggled with his chapter over-** **what? Over a month?** **How the time flies...** **But here it is!**

 **And my** **motivation came back** **too, so I think I'm going to publish another chapter soon. (At least I feel like it)**

 **W** **riting author's notes** **is hard; I never know what to write**

 **And happy December!**


	7. Chapter 7

_Alfred laughed_ _cheerfully. It was finally summer. There would be no school or homework; just_ _rexalation, and maybe, laziness. Of course he could be with his friends._ _A_ _nd go to beach and eat ice cream and play football and do everything. After all, he had all time in the world._ _"See ya tomorrow, Alfred!" His friend, Allen, shouted from a school bus. The two boys were best friends_ _and_ _as in_ _separable as a shirt and a butt._

 _"See you!"_ _The golden haired boy grinned_ _, then continued_ _to walk. Luckily he didn't have a long way to_ _home._

 _He startled whistling. Occasionally he waved to his classmates who_ _biked past him fast._ _After a few minutes of walking_ _he turned to the_ _drive way of his family._

 _Alfred's home wasn't large; there was_ _a backyard, big enough to play soccer_ _, a garage and two-storey main_ _house._

 _The American boy walked inside._

 _"Hello!" He shouted while taking his shoes off._ _He threw the bag across the_ _entry; first, there was no books_ _in it and second, he didn't care._

 _Then he noticed that no_ _one answered to his_ _greeting._

 _"Hello?"_ _He walked to the kitchen and saw only his parents there._ _His father looked more serious than usual, and the_ _wrinkles in his mother's face looked deeper._ _Overall, John and Angela looked much older than they really were._

 _"Hey, where's Matt?"_ _He asked, grinning cheerfully. Of course_ _he knew everything wasn't alright, but it was his duty as a hero to lift up the mood._

 _"I'm here", his brother Matthew, who was adopted from Canada - Alfred had been five then, he didn't remember much about the vacation - said quietly. He looked more_ _melancholic than usual_ _ly_.

 _"Alfred..." Angela swallowed, her expression uneasy, like she knew something that would destroy the safe and providential bubble_ _where Alfred lived._

 _"Mum? Dad? Has something happened?"_ _Hideous feeling settled into his stomach, creating a knot that would not open easily. Had dad cheated on mum again? Were they going to separate? That would explain the dejected look Matt had... His grin faltered a little._

 _"Al, we're going to move to Chicago", John said firmly. "There are too much bad memories in this city."_

 _It felt like the_ _stable and strong ground under him had broken into pieces. Now he was falling, falling into the dark, empty void..._

Alfred opened his eyes with a startle. His breathing was fast, and he felt nervous for some reason unknown to him. Remains of the dream didn't leave his mind; instead they stayed, like wanting to haunt him.

The musician sighed. He wondered was Allen fine. They hadn't seen each other in years, but he remembered that Allen had said something about moving to England. Or to Italy. He wasn't sure.

Then the door opened. A nurse with pretty facial features and a petite body stepped in. She was holding a salver with a deep plate and a glass full of milk.

"Good morning, mr. Jones", she chirped, her voice full of fake happiness. She had too much makeup. Alfred cringed internally; he despised women like that. Why they had to put makeup? Women were usually beautiful without makeup. Natural beauty without anything else was good. At least to Alfred.

"Morning", the singer greeted. Something flashed in the nurse's eyes, but she smiled sweetly and put the salver on the nightstand. Alfred glanced at the plate and saw that it was full of porridge.

"Can you eat by yourself or should I help?" She blinked a few times, trying to look innocent, although in reality she wasn't innocent. Alfred knew people; he had met a lot of people on his tours.

"I'm not a baby", he muttered and took the spoon. He started eating the porridge, which tasted like slurry. The musician grimaced, but forced himself to eat it. Alfred swore that he got a food poisoning.

While he eated, the nurse eyed him with a suspicious feeling in her brown eyes. When he finished, she slowly got up to get the salver.

"Do you need something?" She asked, walking slowly closer to the door with the salver.

Alfred shook his head: what could he possibly want? Other than getting out of the hospital, that is.

She nodded, looking slightly disappointed. Then she left.

The American sighed, relieved. Finally she left. He glanced outside and saw that the sun had risen already. It wasn't as early as he had thought.

He put the TV on, which was showing news. Again. And what's more, they weren't the happiest news in existence.

Alfred couldn't bother listening the news and the newest scandals. All they nowadays broke was bad news. He sighed.

 _"S_ _o, what's your response to this scandal?"_

 _"I can't tell you how shocked I am. How could someone do a thing like that?"_

From time to time he glanced at the clock. He felt concerned; why was Arthur late? He had never been late for the two days the musician had known him. Maybe something had happened to him. Can something happen to an angel? And why was he worrying about a dead person he didn't know? (His mother said that you truly know a person when you know his soul's every corner and mind's every thought and secret - and even then not very well. To put it simply, he had to feel like he had found his missing piece.)

Then he remembered: the angel had said yesterday that he wouldn't come today. Alfred felt disappointed; what he would do now? He'd die from boredom.

Someone knocked carefully on the door two times. The musician looked up, his eyes shining; he knew only one person who knocked like that.

"Kiku! Come in!"

His manager, Kiku Honda, stepped in. His jet black hair was clean as always and his dark brown, almost black eyes, were inscrutable. He moved to take a seat and sat down.

"Good morning, Alfred-kun." Kiku greeted politely. Alfred grinned cheerfully; it had been few days since he'd seen one of his best friends.

"How is it going?"

"Very well. What about you?"

The American shrugged. "It's boring here. They won't let me do anything, because 'I need to let the injuries heal'. I'm not going to stay here more than a month!" The musician crossed his arms and sulked like a child.

Kiku chuckled. As Alfred's long-term friend he knew the singer could be headstrong about some things if he wanted to.

"Please be patient, Alfred. I am sure you'll get soon out of here", The Japanese man said.

"Yep, and when then?" He felt annoyed, not because of Kiku, but himself. Since he was a child, he liked moving. It created a false sense of freedom, it was like a drug to him. To this day, he had taken that drug almost every day, but even exercise didn't fill that hole in him everyone had. Alfred was now laying on the bed, without a chance to feel wind on his face. To put it simply, he couldn't feel freedom.

"I do not know", the manager answered.

"Well, I bet you didn't come to just ask how it has been going", Alfred noted, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

Kiku nodded slowly; the musician guessed right. In the background, the TV ran on and on without listeners.

"I am sorry to bother you while you are resting, but as your manager I would like to ask, have you written any new songs? Or got new ideas?" The Japanese man gestured uncertainly towards the door and the windows. The musician shook his head. Actually, it was a small, white lie. A wavering, blurry idea floated at the back of his mind. He wasn't sure should he tell about it to others, but he decided to try and write a song. If it didn't succeed, he would leave it.

Kiku nodded again, not letting his feelings show. Then he glanced at his golden watch.

"I am afraid I have to leave now. I have a few appointments with other musicians."

Alfred gave a laugh. "Like with Gilbert?"

The manager nodded, smiling shortly, then rose up from his seat and left with a farewell. At least it sounded like a farewell to Alfred, who was, again, left alone with only his memories by him.

 **I have no idea can people with a broken hand eat. I guess they can...**

 **Ok. I'm back. I had to keep a pause in writing this story (and DoTS)** **because I just needed a pause from writing. But, there is a one problem: I don't really remember what I've planned with this. Well, let's see what I can figure out...**


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